Hallucinations of Love
by Hirosada
Summary: Based on a tumblr prompt of AUs, Tom and Harry live in the same building and stuff happens basically. I'm not really good at summaries, sorry.


Tom Riddle was a reasonable young man. It was fair in the least to say that he did have a rather light homicidal tendency and that he preferred to be alone. After all, was he not the fairest and the most intelligent? It was also fair to say that his vanity and his pride were his flaws. That being said, however, the common populace viewed him as a perfection among their misery.

Unfortunately, this did not stop him from slaving all throughout the night at the Ministry in order to pass legislations. And at 1 in the morning his slightly homicidal tendencies soared higher and higher as he trudged back to his flat.

He hated the stairs in this building. The creaking and the groaning followed the path of one foot after the other up to his flat. Why did it have to be on the fifth floor and after ten flights of stairs? Did Lucius want Tom to _crucio_ him? Was this some twisted revenge from Draco on the poor sleep-deprived dark lord? The brat would pay for it either way, Tom mused (well as much as he could with a sleep-muddled mind).

And finally he arrived at flat 5D, which was neither his (the Malfoys had 'generously' 'allowed' him to stay there which was good enough to say that Lucius had given it to Tom out of either direct fear or respect and both were good since it was hard to tell with the blond haired man) nor truly a flat. While muggle housing did have some advantages (the electricity, the running water, Tom even gave them the slightest amount of respect for their entertainment platforms), a small muggle flat in the crowded city was dismal. So once again magic was might in this case.

He fumbled to reach his keys and cursed himself for not creating a portkey into his flat. At the time it had been a completely reasonable idea to stroll around London before coming home to his flat. Unfortunately Tom Riddle, the great Dark Lord Voldemort, had never thought that he would be so completely exhausted that if he apparated he'd be in danger of splinching himself.

The Ministry was up in arms over skirmishes between werewolf packs. Little things like these were always blown out of proportion. Some little idiot would leak it and then 'concerned mothers and parents' would start talking to one another. At the blink of an eye, commissions would begin to rally together like "Concerned Witches, Wizards, Parents, and other Magical beings etc.", or the more extremist "Lobbyists for the Control of Magical Creatures" and "A Wizarding World for Wizards". They would garner attention from the press and cesspools of reporters would start sucking the stories up like a giant sponge. The fools were attempting to pass legislation left and right; the dam clogging up the perfectly well flowing river.

Tom wanted to die. His eyes felt as though they had been skewered and his muscles ached at even the most minute movements. He was tempted to give up and sleep out in the hallway tonight. The lock was being scratched by his keys as he attempted to engage the lock. So far, all he had managed to do was jab the key aimlessly (and with as little grace and finesse that was oh so unbefitting of _a_ dark lord, and he was _the Dark Lord_ ). And then, as though he had finally threaded the smallest of needles, Tom Riddle achieved the greatest satisfaction of his day.

 _Click_.

The key was in the hole. The key was in the hole-thingy! The lock, Tom meant the lock. But then again, he mused, that was completely stupid. Why would he put his key in a loch? So a surviving cousin of a dinosaur could swallow it up and then he would have to sleep on the floor outside his apartment for the rest of his life? No, he was not doing that. Come to think of it, _lock_ , what a truly amusing word. Lock, lo-ock, he'd have to firecall Minerva sometime to ask about that big lake in her neck of the woods. A lock.

And that, my friends, was the sad state of mind that Tom Riddle had entered as he sat stifling laughter outside his door at the dead of night. No matter how great a man was, even the greatest, was Morpheus' victim. But soon Tom's head throbbed again and he was reminded of his goal, turn the lock and go in. Go to bed. Sleep.

So, with little grace and even less dignity, Tom Riddle trudged into flat 5D. Kicking off his shoes, his stupor began to overtake him. Laughing at words outside his door? Of course his state was affecting his flawless mind. He would never have such a state of mind if not for those fools at the Ministry. Oh, once he was in power, they'd pay. He needed his sleep to maintain his perfection. His mind was slipping as he began to undress in the foyer. He was willing to collapse there, dead to the world. His mind was slipping, surely it must be. He would never hallucinate a cat eating out of his fridge. And that was the last thought of Tom Marvolo Riddle Jr. as he layed down on the floor, the nice, soft, wooden would a cat be in his apartment?

And that he had never slept on a floor so soft.


End file.
